


Blood Thicker Than Steel

by Mumf



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: After Institute, Aggression, Comfort, Dark, Depression, Dominance/submission, Drunk Sex, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Loneliness, Obsession, Partial Substance Abuse, Possession, eventual love, hallucination, other fun stuff, rough, slow build up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7241968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mumf/pseuds/Mumf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So little time had seemed to pass since the destruction of the Institute and the rising empire of the Brotherhood in the Commonwealth. Sole begins to regret her decisions, despite the praise she earns daily. What's a grieving mother to do? A certain Elder begins picking up on her behavioral shift and doesn't hesitate to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story is actually heavily based off of a roleplay I did with a good friend of mine, such a good sport. She didn't even play the game, she researched it for me. But anyways, thank you for taking the time to read my garbage, just a few warnings and blah blah blah- you get the point.

It was on the few days that were calm that she wondered what could've been, what should have been.

In the least sentimental way possible, she thought, that she wished for the life she had deserved. Her eyes were cast to the windows weathered and pressured, the storm clouds slowly rolling in. She sighed, another storm, was it? Her thin fingers pinched her nose bridge and her memories played back to her in silence.

_"Who's my good boy?" Nate grinned down at the tiny boy. He giggled happily and caught his father's fingers, babbling uselessly. Tiny, innocent, wonderful as he was in the late evening hours. Nate had become such a good father, she realized after Shaun entered the world. He was rather... gruff, in his military days, but here? He found peace- a sanctuary, in Sanctuary._

_Heh. She smiled to herself, watching her sleepy son fight off the drowsiness. "Go on, honey. Codsworth is powered down for tonight- why don't you tuck him in?" She giggled, watching the towering man nod and carry the tiny baby to bed. He hushed the child to sleep with the assistance of the mobile and a soft hum. Gentle, but so strong... Her Nate. They went to bed shortly after finishing up a good movie she had saved for the night, and her mind drifted as she nuzzled into his broad chest. "I love you," he whispered huskily. Her eyes, slate grey and reflective, met his. "I love you, too," she murmured quietly, smiling. Soft moonlight illuminated her best features, and he couldn't help but kiss her._

_"My gorgeous doll," he assured, slipping into sleep, "Loving mother, perfect wife. Always, always, honey."_

She missed those days, more than she cared to admit. "Sentinel," the voice came from the other end of the small, run down diner. Her eyes met the unknown man- a field Scribe. She exhaled out slowly. "Next time you spook me like that I'll blow your head off," she warned grouchily, eyes tired.

The Scribe stiffened, "Apologies, ma'am, but I have direct reports from the Elder. He requests you immediately," he informed flatly. "He is... not taking no for an answer," he hinted not so subtly. She rubbed her temples, "Yeah, yeah, I get it," she muttered, voice filled with dismissive aggression. "I'll get there shortly," she assured. "Just, ah, give me a moment."

It was embarrassing, how close she was to tears, and the last thing she wanted was for that man to see her weakness. He was the kind to pour a gallon of salt into an open wound, a predator in the worst ways. So she made her way to the Prydwen after calming herself, and met with Maxson on the Command Deck.

"Reporting in, sir," she spoke with no emotion, back straight and lips tight. The broad, towering man slowly turned to face her, piercing blue eyes finding hers. She refused to look away. "Ah, good. I was expecting you sooner, Sentinel," he hinted harshly. He slowly moved, closer... closer to her...

He was still far from her, but to her, it wasn't far enough. His presence rivaled a Deathclaw- intimidating, calculating, knowing. She knew what she was messing with. "Apologies, sir. I had a... matter to attend to," she still hadn't looked away. She recognized the subtle impressive reflection in his oceanic eyes and wondered just what he saw in hers.

"What matters, may I ask?" But he wasn't asking. This was his game he always played. Toy with his prey, letting them feel secure and pouncing for the kill. She breathed in softly, " _Personal_ matters, sir. I needed a moment to regroup myself." He nodded, but didn't seem too impressed with her answer. "No matter. Take a seat," he commanded, waving to the couch on the edge of the room. She raised a wary brow and took her seat.

She knew better than to ask, to question him. When she entered the Brotherhood, she was a different woman. Questioned everything, sarcastic comebacks, fiery quips. But they were gone; she had been drained of her fight when she pressed that fucking button... "I'm no idiot, Sentinel," his voice was rough, powerful, anything but shy, "I've noticed your personality shift, your evasive behavior," he paced slow in front of her.

Slow. Always slow. She looked away, finally. "Oh? Is this what you called me here for?" She joked dryly, "I'm touched you care," knowing why he "cared". He seemed to recognize it as well, "Careful," he warned, eyes reflecting unamusement, "I am bringing it to your attention because it is quite worrisome- you fought all this time and suddenly, when the Institute is destroyed, you lost your fires," he looked at her with something she couldn't identify.

"We finally relinquished the Institute of their reign, Elder, I am simply relieved," she lied. He didn't seem impressed. He leaned over her, standing a few feet in front of her from the couch. From this distance, his eyes could see her soft dusted cheeks, lightly covered with freckles. Hm. Something he hadn't noticed.

Her eyes were something he had taken into consideration before, admittedly, when the nights grew long, and natural urges called, he... ashamedly, had thought of them, gazing up at him from his waist. He pushed aside such qualms, eyes sharpening and lips pulling into an unamused scowl.

"You play me like a fool," he accused quietly, but nothing about the words were  _quiet._ He knew. "You know better than to try me, Sentinel. I am growing impatient with your lies and games. I demand to know why you have been acting strangely," he half growled. The woman before him infuriated him beyond end. When she had pranced onto his ship in first meeting, he had never met a soldier more dismissive, assertive, rowdy, and insubordinate as her. Such features had little change, it seemed.

She folded her hands calmly over her lap, "I don't know what you're talking about, sir. I was telling the truth. I still am," she assured coldly. His gaze were like knives, cutting her metaphorically, trying to pierce her for information. He hated not knowing why. "Bullshit," he finally called, "If you were relieved, you would not walk around as if someone has died, Sentinel. Your greetings to Proctor Ingram would not be heavy, your voice would not be flat," he knew her, regardless of how he felt about her, which he could not identify. Did he care for her, or did he hate her? Did he respect her? Of course. Did he see her as more than a Sister of Steel? He didn't know.

She swallowed, "I'm telling the truth," she murmured quietly, ineffectively. Her eyes reflected something else, a sadness he hadn't seen in her. It was... unsettling. He frowned, not happy with her blatant, failing attempt to lie. But what was there for him to do? He growled, "You're dismissed," he turned away from her.

She stood, walking out of the room, back to the Flight Deck to board the vertibird and make her way back down to the Commonwealth. Maxson drug a gloved hand over his face. "Damned woman," he grunted, opening a bottle of bourbon and taking a large swig. He'd need it to get through tonight without hating himself.


	2. Down Time

His lips met the cold edge of the glass bottle and his eyes gazed out the windows of the Command Deck to observe the Commonwealth. A bird's eye view, yet he saw next to nothing useful. He gathered himself with a pinch to his nose bridge and a sigh. Arthur had a bit of a vice, admittedly. Sure, he enjoyed himself through liquor, and in his youth, buffout, but he didn't see it as a crippling flaw. He couldn't stand her, he bitterly thought, thinking back on all the times they butted heads. She drove him to alcohol more frequently than even the stress of running the eastern coast Brotherhood. Damned woman. His mind began to fuzz, and his lips loosened into a scornful frown.

Maxson closed his eyes, trying to erase her silhouette from his conscious, failing miserably. He knew she was a little older than him, physically, and the wedding ring on her finger made him feel more than a little guilty for the dirty thoughts that coursed through his mind.

 

_"Is this not to your liking, Elder?" Her lips, painted a dusty rose, smiled up at him like a serpent. His expression tightened, his eyes hard and lusting; his cheeks burned at the vision before him. Confident and coy, her hands ran along his crotch, her smirk made him grip her chin. He wanted to wipe that fucking arrogance right off her perfect face. He loved it, he craved the challenge. As Elder, it was so easy to obtain women, they practically hung off his shoulders at important dinners, but her? She openly admitted she hated his guts, and sway of her hips as she left, flipping him off, made him dizzy with need._

_He had to have it, her affection, her loyalty. "Shut the fuck up," he hissed, "You know damn well what I expect out of you, Sentinel," he sneered, a grin so wicked on his lips. Her eyes, wide and fakely innocent, like a doe caught in a spotlight; an expression she'd perfected, just for him, "Oh, but, sir, I don't. Would you mind reminding me, Maxie?" She purred. Fuck._

_He swallowed and took no time in pinning her to the desk, his eyes, azure and wild with animalistic desire. "Say it," he snarled, attacking her neck, rubbing her through the thin Vault Suit. She wriggled her hips, head leaning back. "Mnn," she shuddered. He growled, "I'm growing impatient with your defiance, Sentinel. I'm not asking," his voice was rough, thick, intimidating. He didn't hesitate to pour all of his authority into his words._

_She grinned and tugged him closer by the triangle on his uniform, legs wrapping around his waist and holding him close, "What're you going to do about it, kid?" She slid her hands across his broad, strong shoulders..._

 

"Elder?" The voice came from behind him, snapping him out of his fantasy. He raised his head, "Yes?" He grunted, impatient. "Sentinel Sole just sent the reports you requested for last week," he informed, almost nervously. Everyone feared him, even Danse had, to a point. Not her. He sighed, running a gloved hand down his face, "Thank you, leave them on my desk," he commanded dryly. He nodded, setting the reports down. Her tardiness pissed him off, too. The reports were thin- he could tell from here, how little she had given in detail. She did it on purpose to fuck with him. In fact, knowing her, she wrote those today, and turned them in late just to spite him.

He wouldn't put it beneath her.

These games he played with her, how tiring they'd become on his mind. Always having to figure her out, but she was always one step ahead. From the pre-war records that Quinlan had dug up on her, he had read she was a lawyer. He could believe it; she knew exactly how to get under your skin, in your head, letting you believe you were progressing with her.

She, frankly, was the sexiest enemy he'd ever known. He sipped his bourbon, his mind wandering again. He wondered what her skin felt like under his roughened hands? Would she be soft, like he imagined, or surprisingly tough, hardened like a mirelurk shell? Her hips had plenty of fat on them, and her breasts were... definitely natural.

Augmentation was pretty common pre-war, he mulled, so it was a fairly nice surprise. He chuckled to himself, god, what was wrong with him? This obsession was unhealthy. he knew. It was wrong to be so intrigued over the woman, especially one like her. Defiant, rude, insubordinate... God he hated her.

And wanted her.

He bit his lips and read over her reports on the Super Mutant den he sent her to wipe out. Not bad, but bland. No heart put in it. Barely any effort danced in her words- flat, illiterate... He rubbed his head. Damned woman. He'd ask her to explain herself later- give her hell.

For now he had other things to do; like drink his liver half to death. He took a large swig of liquor and swallowed harshly, eyes going dull. What would it take to forget her?


End file.
